A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 96: Tip Tap

Chapter 96: Tip Tap

She could hear something in the distance. The echo of something she long ago realised wasn't actually there. It started as a clicking noise, like the scuttle of a nocturnal bug going click clack click clack along the vacant lengths of winding tunnels. It was impossible to detect whether it was retreating or coming near, the sound never changing. Stuck. Just like she was. Eventually, it became a constant dripping, like the plonk plonk plonk of water hitting the rock. It irked the unsettled part of her mind enough that she had to sit with her head tucked between her knees, ears blocked. Yet she could still hear it, as if the dripping was inside her mind.

Now, the sound was something akin to a scratch, as if someone dragged their nails against the stone walls as they stalked closer closer closer. Galadriel stared at the empty space on the other side of her bars, knowing full well nothing was coming. That her mind betrayed her. Nothing could be trusted. Not when Atticus manipulated her reality.

Today—tonight—something in between—Galadriel raked her own fingernails against the rough wall of her cell, offering her mind a slice of peace by creating the true sound of scratching for her ears to cling to. To control what she knew was real. They had cracked and bled but the pain was non-existent. She stared at her hand, the mangled and scarred skin. Her immortal healing couldn't keep up with the number of lives she had to take, or the magic that welled up in her only to be dragged away again. Not that she was brought from the depths of the mountain anymore. Amarantha no longer gave her that simplest of luxuries.

"You should stop that."

Empty, grey eyes snapped up to the spot in front of her cell. She swore she had been staring there but one moment there was nothing and the next there was. A tall, male High Fae stood the closest to the bars, his green tunic dull in the shadows. As was the golden mask planted on his face, covering all but his jaw and pale lips. Behind him were two Lesser Faeries that usually escorted her.

The male's voice was rather dry but had a quality to it that told her it wasn't always as such. In the only way she knew how to rebel, Galadriel scratched at the stone harder. The male winced like the sound caused him pain and gestured to the guards. The guards didn't move. "Open the door," he commanded, clearly familiar with the intone required for ordering and snapping fingers.

The guards looked at each other, and then one slinked forward, unlocking the gate with an unspoken spell. The male stepped in with a short snarl at the guard who shut the door behind the High Fae. The male scowled but said nothing at being locked in her humble abode. He glanced around it, no sunlight to catch on his blonde hair as it shifted over his shoulders. Then he looked at her—at her soiled, broken spot in the darkest corner. "How long have you been in here?"

Galadriel looked back at her nails gouging into the stone. She had begun to leave grooves from how often she'd been performing her ritual. "Hard to say."

"Do you remember who I am?"

"Tamlin," she muttered. "High Lord. Spring Court."

He crouched beside her. "We used to be family."

She continued scratching.

"Why does she have you here?"

Galadriel looked at him. Stared at him, trying to reap the reason his presence made something inside her shift. He wasn't a friend, nor an enemy. It was like he stood for something—symbolised something that should be important to her but she had long ago lost the meaning. Was this another false world Atticus had built for her? One not yet strong enough that she couldn't see through the cracks in the still-curing conjuration?

"Is it because you're Rhysand's mate?" Tamlin asked roughly. Galadriel tilted her head back. Rhysand hadn't seen her in years. Not in his true form, anyway. Atticus still spent hours placing phantoms of him inside her head, toying her into revealing his most well-kept secrets. "Stop that." He tore her hand from the wall, gripping her wrist with beastly strength.